Dry Ecstasy
by skrewtkeeper
Summary: AU one-shot, set as Harry wanders off to the castle to watch Snape's memories. He recalls what it was like to watch one of his teachers die when he found he didn't really hate him... Entirely in Harry's POV


**a/n: **A very odd prompt brought this about for a competition. The only requirements was that it had to be 800 words or more. I think I met that with too much ease. Anyways, this is really quite an AU one-shot, set as Harry wanders off to the castle to watch Snape's memories. He recalls what it was like to watch one of his teachers die when he found he didn't really hate him... Entirely in Harry's POV. This is probably the most Snarry I shall ever write, unless someone tells me that I'm good at it. Then perhaps I'll try harder. ;

Rated PG-13 for blood and gore that is minutely descripted. A light taste of the 'T' rating for thought. ;

**Dry Ecstasy**

The darkness overclouded all; through my poor line of vision, I could easily see the marks between good and evil at this new center of the world. People had died tonight. A familiar pulling at the back of my throat intensified as I viewed those bodies, most of which I did not know upon the grass. When the feeling grew to become too much, I sank to my knees, and vomited all over the side of the grass, cursing myself as I did so. _"This is the land of the dead Harry. Could you not respect it as such?"_ I'm sorry Professor. You would have done so as well.

Wiping the filth from the edge of my mouth, I think back to a time when I hated my mentor, and desired nothing more than to strangle the man, twinkling those maddening blue eyes at me. I shook my head in silent reverie; I was foolish then. I should never have thought a reason to go against him, to hate him so, but I could not help it. He distanced himself from me, for what I believed to be because he did not trust me, that he would rather throw me to the lions then truly defend me in my name, for 'the greater good', as he would have exclaimed it to be. For what good would his death be? I often wondered upon this aspect, but never considered that he would one day, albeit soon, die at the hand of one he so explicitly proclaimed that I should trust. What a foolish man I thought him to be. Even when I did not hate him again, I believed him to be foolish and rash with his decisions and merriment he so often indulged in when faced with the context of death and destruction. Could I now, call him foolish for dying when I should have? No, I could not, and never dreamed of so. Until I came upon Snape again in what was supposed to be my final year at school. The year that everything changed, and I waited in agony for the hard times to pass, especially where Dumbledore was concerned. I could not ask for his help any longer, and it was due to the man that lay dying at my feet, nearly in my arms in fact, but I could not hate him.

Oh yes, I cried vengeance upon his soul when he fled from before my presence. I thought him the coward. The one who ran from me because he was too afraid to fight, and die at the hand of sixteen-year-old wizard, which due to the hate I dwelled on and directed towards him, I have to admit that I believed my reasoning to be well enough reserved. Who else would flee from me? Voldemort himself never truly had, save that which the night he had tried to murder me the first time. I feared him, but what I feared more was that I was too shallow of a leader to have people follow one such as me at such unity within the neighboring Wizarding world. Surely, Dumbledore left his mark, but why was I the only one remaining to rise up and face the challenges that inevitably lay ahead? The final confrontation, after an entire year had not yet transpired, (and I will admit that I was more determined to beat him as Snape lay dying beside me), I was unseen to Voldemort. For because he was filled with such hate that care and concern deflected from his own self; he did not recognize that the one whom he sought so fanatically lay just beyond the passage that would fully grant me entrance into that filthy shack.

As I entered, and kneeled beside the man that had taken my last protector, my only link to safety, I watched from beneath his eyes, something of fear and repulsion. He still hated me, I knew, though I suddenly realized that he was dying now because of me. _"I'm sorry,"_ I thought shakily, grateful that he could see into my thoughts and Hermione could not. I did not want her to know I cared for the man that I had sworn to murder before all our eyes. _"I never _truly_ wanted you to die, Professor…"_

The hate flew from his eyes in a fiery flash that only occurred for less than half a second. He scrabbled at his neck, now soaked with blood that continued to gush at every side. "Take it… Take it!" he pleaded. With that, I noticed now the silvery contents that streamed gently from his ears, and nostrils. Hermione caught on before I could move, still staring into the eyes of the man I hated. Why couldn't I look away?

I looked from Hermione's busy hands, fumbling with the crystal goblet she had conjured out of thin air, and those man's eyes that were so serene at this point, and back to Hermione, working feverishly to fill the contents of that goblet. With a jolt, I realized what it was. Memories: offered up by him for me to understand. Understand why he was bad, and yet good. Understand why Dumbledore had "betrayed" me terribly, and understand why the man that was now offering aid and help had made it clear that he hated me upon first encounter.

"_Thank you_," I thought fervently, meeting his eyes with a glance, hoping he could see the true meaning behind him. I looked away, hardly able to bear the fact that he was dying--_dying_ for someone that he hated and loathed from the start.

"Look…at…me…" he whispered suddenly, bringing my eyes back to his as I observed with bitter familiarity the life depart from them. He was dead. He was _dead_. Another man was dead because of this monster calling himself "Lord Voldemort". As the aforementioned man's words faded into silence, I stood valiantly, ready to face him once those memories Severus presented served his correct wishes. As Hermione and I left the accursed place, I could not help but glance back at his face. Perhaps I had not seen it before, but his expression made me mutely inhale sharply. He was _smiling. _


End file.
